


Rev Matching

by Vertizontally



Series: '99 Thunderbird Sport [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Piercing, Does It Count As Meet-Cute If They've Already Met, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Motorcycle clubs, Motorcycles, Oral Sex, Slight Jaskier Whump, Some Plot, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26922301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vertizontally/pseuds/Vertizontally
Summary: "Rev matching: The art of downshifting smoothly by raising the engine speed before engaging the clutch to allow a clean gear change."They finally meet face to face- and porn ensues.Might there be more in store for them if they find a way to reach each other?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: '99 Thunderbird Sport [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646812
Comments: 21
Kudos: 100





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The continuation! With more gratuitous motorcycle information!
> 
> I'm sorry- I'm a rider and I can't help but slip a few things in here and there. I promised myself I'd never do a cliche motorcycle story, but in the infamous words of Jaskier; "And yet here we are."
> 
> Enjoy!

Geralt shifted in his seat as he flagged down another beer for himself, the leather of his trousers squeaking unpleasantly against the pleather dinette.  
  
He should have just _changed_ when he had the chance, but it was always a hassle in places like this and he hadn’t anticipated to stay as long as he has. It’s warm inside the bar, enough to have made him shuck his jacket, but not enough to motivate him into the bathrooms to change into his jeans.  
  
He can already hear Eskel’s teasing suggestions to just switch to kevlar denim and be done with it like he has.  
  
But Geralt likes the ritual of getting ready for a ride. It puts him in the right headspace for it and Geralt has yet to be convinced as to the durability of _cloth._ Very well-built cloth, but cloth nonetheless. His leathers have seen him through a couple of incidents through the years and he’s not keen on replacing them anytime soon.  
  
And gods, he’s not as suicidal as Lambert is to put on whatever sorry excuse for protection _he_ has.  
  
Geralt shakes his head, taking a deep draw of his beer.  
  
 _Mesh._ What could possess a man to wear what looked like the siding of a polyester hamper as riding gear?  
  
 _“No, fuck off, this shit measures in just as good as your stuffy cowhide there you prick. The rest of us are here enjoying the future while you’re sitting there sweating your balls off.”_  
  
Their earlier conversations were still running through his head as he sat in the furthest corner of the bar away from the group of patrons sitting around the stage, taking in the set of one of tonight’s musicians. Eskel, Lambert, and he had come here to drink and settle after a group ride up north and back to see their club leader, the old bastard putting on a show of annoyance whilst quietly loving the company.   
  
Vesemir hasn’t been road-worthy since his cancer, recently in remission, but still unwell enough to handle his own bike. The old Scout had been just as cared for as it has always been despite it’s disuse though and that had given them all a little bit of reassurance. If the bike was cared for, then the Witcher was too.  
  
Vesemir had started the “Witcher” motorcycle club years before any of them joined. It had once been large enough to accommodate multiple chapters- each named for a chosen mascot. Vipers, Cats, Griffins, Bears, Cranes, Manticores- and finally, Wolves. His own chapter alongside Lambert, Eskel, and even Vesemir.  
  
Now there were just a few here and there, the interest having died off as their members grew older or gained families and started worrying about their time spent on their bikes and the risks it brought. There were also the general nasty rumours about clubs and the people in them.  
  
Geralt would be the last person to say that _all_ of the people he knew in the club were harmless. He’s known kind men and bastards alike in here- he’s even testified against a few of them, but they were hardly a gang. The rumours and bad publicity around MC’s had been enough to discourage new members, whilst also bringing in the exact kind of people they _didn’t_ want.  
  
With Vesemir looking at retirement at some point- he’s not sure who will head the club after or if maybe they’ll just disband and find their own way with the small family of people they’ve collected through the years.  
  
Ciri had taken to the club like a cub to the hunt, using the connections and the safety net of her extended unofficial family to fuel her need for adventure. Last he heard, she was taking her girlfriend from college on a bike-camping trip just to see how far they could get before having to come back home. He wasn’t sure if their relationship would survive the trip, but he supposed that was the point. Ciri has been weeding out unsuitable partners with odd methods for nearly as long as she’s been dating, often scaring the shit out of _him_ in the process.  
  
If he hadn’t already had a full head of white hair long before her adoption, he’d blame every single strand of it on her and the often-terrifying position of being her father.  
  
He leans back in his seat a little more, enjoying the atmosphere of the bar around him. The music was pleasant, the food decent, the beer better, and it had been an enjoyable day.  
  
Lambert -their youngest member- had bugged Eskel for a ride out just under an hour ago, wanting to avoid the nightly changeover from dive bar to dive bar with _live music._  
  
 _“Think Scorpion’s still got room for one more?” Lambert chimed, attempting to bat his lashes into Eskel’s good graces. Very few people rode on his well-fussed-over black Vulcan that wasn’t him, but luckily for Lambert, Eskel was entirely too soft for all of them._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Your Shitbike still in the shop then? What’d you do to it this time?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He’d still give Lambert shit for it though._ _  
_ _  
_ _Lambert threw his hands up, huffing._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I didn’t do shit! It’s loosing coolant somehwere and the mechs are trying to sort it out for me because I’m worth fuck-all when it comes to that sensitive shit.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Geralt laughed._ _  
_ _  
_ _“So you mean to tell me that crotch rocket you fished out of some Craigslist ad after being crashed is having issues? I’m shocked!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Lambert gasped in offense, pointing a gloved finger at him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Beg your fucking pardon, my pointy machine of speed and precision is doing just fine thank you! She just needs a little help is all! Poor girl’s shitting coolant everywhere and you have the balls to demean her in her time of suffering!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Eskel laughs, clamping a hand on Lambert’s shoulder._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah, yeah. Tell that to us next time we catch you injuring yourself -and it- trying to stunt on the thing. C’mon, it’s getting late.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Lambert pouts, but doesn’t bother to defend himself against the truth._ _  
__  
__Besides, he doesn’t need to. Each one of them have the bikes they’ve chosen for a reason. It just so happens to be that Lambert’s reason is that he’s a dumbass._

Geralt had meant to leave right after them, truly. But he had found the first musician more pleasant than he expected and stuck around to see out her set. The first half of the night had started- early enough for the patronage to be light but late enough for the people who came in after work to stick around a bit longer. The sets weren’t very long in the beginning- often just one or two newcomers to show their talent and earn some tips before the hired bands came in later.   
  
It was a nice little local joint and though Geralt hardly considered it his usual scene, it was a good place for the community.

And well.  
  
Then _he_ got onto the stage and Geralt hadn’t been able to leave.  
  
He didn’t recognize him at first, their last meeting having been had in the poor lighting of headlights against alley walls, but he could recognize the _voice_ and it had made his focus snap to him in an instant.  
  
And well. Then he just couldn’t look away.  
  
The busker seemed a little better off than when they’d last met a few months back, in nicer clothing and having a softer complexion that doesn’t make him look like he’s been outside all day singing for his dinner. If he’s _here_ then perhaps that means he’s finally gotten a break somewhere or perhaps just earns enough in small bars now to get him out of the areas that got him into trouble.  
  
Geralt manages to hear the name “Jaskier” as he’s being introduced and finds himself pleasantly surprised by the selection of music the soloist offers.  
  
He starts with something upbeat and attention-catching, swaying and exaggerating his movements and expressions along with the tune in a way that makes the performance come to life. Geralt finds that once he starts watching, he just can’t look away.  
  
He breaks into something a little more rowdy to the pealing laughter of the crowd, and, _fuck._  
  
The words are cleverly disguised and twisted into a new story with a new setting- a bar fight leading into the hero walking away with a very grateful patron on his arms- but the heart of it is there. And Geralt can already feel his pulse hammering at the memory of just what happened that night.  
  
He’d barely even _seen_ the kid get dragged into an alley- a few seconds sooner or later and he would have missed it entirely. And, being _him_ and also a _sworn_ _member of the Witcher MC,_ he couldn’t just leave the guy to his fate. Protect those who can’t protect themselves and never let an injustice go unanswered and all that.  
  
Perfectly reasonable and noble shit that led to an all-too-satisfying beatdown of a small band of thieves and one incredible round of head.  
  
And he can’t stop _watching_ the man on the stage, eyes tracing slick lips and the rouge of exertion on his face, his fingers moving cleverly along the strings of his guitar. He’d only caught a poor glimpse of the man before, but here in his element, under the light of the stage and caught up in the excitement of performing, he’s gorgeous.  
  
And for a moment, he thinks he sees a pair of bright sky-blue eyes meet his, and he thinks he’s been recognized before the musician’s -Jaskier’s- eyes move back over the rest of the crowd.  
  
And Geralt feels himself exhale heavily, not realizing he’d been holding it in, relief flooding him. He’d been fully geared when he ran into that alley- unwilling to take the minutes it would require to strip it off. And besides, gear always lent an edge in a fight. Hard to hurt him if he’s layered under leather and armour, easier to throw his weight around.  
  
But, that meant the man had never seen his face. He doesn’t know who Geralt is and wouldn’t know unless told. That had been part of the thrill- that the busker had been eager to suck him off not because of attraction, but out of pure want and need to reward and satisfy.  
  
Geralt realizes he’s stayed here too long- bites his lip as he contemplates how long it would take to get his tab and leave even if he didn’t finish his beer. The bar was beginning to get busy and the servers were already starting to get swamped.  
  
Fuck, could he just leave cash?  
  
Was that even someth-  
  
“I love how you just sit in the corner and brood.”  
  
Geralt feels the creep of horror in his spine as it’s made all too clear that Jaskier is making to sit across from him, drink in hand and a self-satisfied grin on his features.  
  
He’s still flushed from his performance, a light sheen of sweat across the open collar of his bright floral shirt, a heavy smattering of chest hair on display. His hairstyle is messy from his time on stage, but not overly so, and the closely-shaved stubble of his jaw gave a conflicting yet complementary contrast of _masculine_ and _boyish._  
  
It was charming and showed confidence and ease within the man himself.  
  
And Geralt feels entirely… overwhelmed.  
  
“C’mon, let’s hear your review- three words or less.”  
  
Fuck, has he been _staring_ this entire time? He must have, but Jaskier shows no sign of being uncomfortable. In fact, he looks eager and curious and _hungry._  
  
Fuck.  
  
Shit.  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
Geralt forces the cogs in his mind to work, spitting out what he can think of as soon as he thinks it.  
  
“It wasn’t true.”  
  
 _Shit._  
  
Geralt winces internally at his own words, worried about whether or not he’s insulted the musician and if he’s just hinted at his own identity a little too much.  
  
But, to his relief, Jaskier grins and laughs.  
  
“It was and it wasn’t- I write about experiences. Sometimes they’re a little embellished. Makes it more fun that way.”  
  
And the fucker _winks._  
  
And Geralt knows that whatever fate has in store for him tonight, he’s already succumbed to it.  
  
\-----

Jaskier feels great- incredible even. Tonight proved to have the best turnout he’s ever had and it’s left him with a decent wad of cash to take home. The owner of the bar had even brought up the suggestion that he move to one of the longer evening slots instead of his current 30 minute set. Between this place and a few other bars around town, he might just make enough to move out of his shitty flat with equally shitty roommates into something of his own.

And to top the wonderful evening off, he’d come off the stage to catch sight of one of the most handsome men he’d ever seen. It was darker in this corner of the bar, but the glow of the dimmed lights had shone in his eyes in a way that had Jaskier thinking he’d seen liquid gold reflected within.

Jaskier had thought his heart stopped for a moment, feeling drawn in instantly.   
  
The man had been staring off in the direction of the stage, leaning heavily on one elbow, fidgeting with the beer bottle in his -frankly-  _ massive hands. _

So the stranger had been watching him sing, though now seemed lost in thought, and Jaskier grinned to himself. He grabbed his complementary drink from the bar and made his way through the crowd just as another musician got on stage, song once again filling the space.   
  
As Jaskier got closer, the man came into sharper detail. His clothing was dark, lending him the ability to almost blend into the shadows if it weren't the shock of long white hair adorning him. It seemed just on this side of untidy, half pulled back into a tie and the other half let loose around his shoulders.   
  
Jaskier spies a helmet and a set of thick gloves on the table next to his hand and  _ ah _ that explains it. Hard to keep one’s hair looking shiny and wonderful if it’s being cramped all day.

He wonders what it would be like to treat the man to a full pampering. If his hair might shine and slip through his fingers like silk with enough product. If the man would make wonderful little sighs and rumbles and hums while being properly cared for.

And he looked like he deserved it- maybe hadn’t received any in a long while. There are ragged scars along his face, some road dust on his shirt and calluses on his hands.   
  
And there was a loneliness about him. A far away look in his eyes, a quiet kind of yearning. Like he’s thinking of someone he misses. The booth is large enough for a small family and here he sits alone.

Well.   
  
That’s a good opportunity for him now isn’t it?   
  
He announces his presence in a way he thinks smooth and charming, grinning as the stranger seems to fumble his own response. He can see the flush of awkwardness on the man’s face and relief when it’s not pointed out.

Ah yes. This one has been out of the game for far too long, he thinks.

Still, he’s trying and Jaskier decides that’s more than enough encouragement.

“Did you write everything you sang tonight?”   
  
Jaskier nods, taking a sip of his daiquiri. Extra strong, but sweet, just the way he likes it.   
  
“It’s a pleasure and a curse, but yes. Everything you hear is all me.”

The man raises a brow quietly and Jaskier leans forward, propping his chin in his hand.   
  
“I don’t think I ever got your name…?”   
  
The white-haired man sheds a small smile.   
  
“Geralt.”   
  
Jaskier grins wildly, taking another drink.  _ Geralt. _ That sounds like the kind of name he can scream into the sheets later.

“Alright, Geralt. And what brings you to The Laughing Dog this fine evening? Other than me, of course.”   
  
Geralt takes a draw of his beer and Jaskier gains the attention of a server to order another before Geralt finally answers.

“Family business. My brothers left an hour ago.”   
  
Jaskier hums.   
  
“Family business?”   
  
Geralt nods hesitantly and Jaskier can see the wariness in his eyes to share too much. Jaskier takes that into consideration- that prying might just push Geralt away more than it draws him in.

“It was a good day- we went out for a ride, then came here to cool down.”   
  
Jaskier can’t help himself, biting his lip.   
  
“Ride, hmm? I’ve been known to do some of that myself.”   
  
It doesn’t have the sultry affect he hoped, Geralt instead furrowing his brows and tilting his head down towards his helmet and gloves.   
  
“Motorcycles.”   
  
Jaksier huffs a laugh.   
  
“Yes, of course.”

Geralt is quiet for a while and Jaskier doesn’t mind it terribly. The music is good -Essi is killing it tonight- and even if he’s spending time with an unfairly attractive and probably painfully straight man, at least he was nice to look at. He can see the crows feet in the corners of Geralt’s eyes and wonders just how far out of his age range he’s stretching here. He’s older than most people in his situation in life- getting thrown on your ass at 18 will do that to you. It took him years to even get his feet under him much less start moving in the direction he wanted.

He’s had plenty of older lovers, some attracted to him for his youth, some eventually leaving him for it. Being 26 and still nowhere near stable would put off just about anyone he supposes.

“You’re staring.”   
  
Jaskier startles from his thoughts, giving a short hum while grabbing for an explanation that isn’t as pathetic as ‘I’m too old to be this far behind in life and yet still too young for you to accept my flirtations and life is unfair.’   
  
“Yes, sorry. Your hair is quite unique. Do you dye it?”   
  
Geralt looks surprised, running a hand through it reflexively.   
  
“No, started going white as a kid. They said it was stress.”   
  
Jaskier’s brows furrowed. What could possibly cause a child’s hair to go white?   
  
“Stress?”

Geralt nodded.   
  
“I became a ward of the state young, then well…” Geralt shrugs, “Leukemia. It all fell off then grew back in white once I was off chemo.”

Jaskier took the answer like a punch to his gut and saw the effect it had on Geralt, who’d shrunk in on himself, looking away in discomfort. Jaskier felt guilty, he hadn’t meant to pry like that.   
  
“I’m sorry.”   
  
Geralt’s shoulders drop and he takes a long drink, finishing his beer in silence.

Jaskier bites his lip and wonders if maybe that was it. This amazing spark of chemistry he felt earlier is now squashed because he’s too nosy for his own good.

“Do you want to see it?”   
  
Jaskier turns to look at Geralt and sees something- resignation maybe or determination- in his eyes and gapes a little.   
  
“See what?”   
  
Geralt moves to stand, reaching to grab his gloves, helmet and jacket.   
  
“My bike.”   
  
And  _ oh. _ That sounded promising. Very promising. At least Geralt wasn’t bolting on him. Just like that, his faith in his ability to coax this striking man to bed is restored. So he grins and nods.   
  
“Lead the way.”   
  
Jaskier finds, once they’re standing to leave the bar, that he and Geralt are of roughly equal height. Or would be if he weren’t in his heeled ankle boots, gaining a few inches of advantage over the object of his affections tonight. Said man looking a little on the startled side once he notices, pupils widening noticeably under the dim bar lighting. Jaskier grins and Geralt seems to get a grip on his gawping, grunting and walking away gesturing for Jaskier to follow him.   
  
There’s a nervousness in Geralt’s stride, but also something remarkably familiar about his form. The way that he melts into the shadows of the parking lot and the solid square of his shoulders.   
  
It sparks something in Jaskier’s gut, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it given his intentions from the start. He doesn’t approach men he finds undesirable after all.

And then he catches sight of the bike Geralt is clearly leading him to, and feels his thoughts grind to a halt.   
  
It’s the same as he remembers, though under slightly better lighting. Cherry red gas tank with matching fenders and exhaust plating, chrome that’s seen better days but polished lovingly where it can be, everything else painted black.   
  
He finally tears his eyes away from it to see Geralt standing there, helmet and jacket dangling from one of his hands, standing tall but apprehensive. And Jaskier grins, thrill and happy pleasure spiking up his spine.   
  
_ His champion is far prettier than he imagined him to be. _

“You smooth bastard.” And hoho, he means it. Geralt had sat there at the table knowing just who he was and instead of telling him, he let their night develop on its own before dropping this little surprise on him.   
  
He’d wanted Geralt before, but now he’s  _ starving _ for it.   
  
Geralt barely has enough time to flash a toothy grin before Jaskier is on him, clinging to his dusty shirt and dragging him into a hungry kiss. The contrasting sweetness and bitterness of their drinks mix, but Jaskier doesn’t give a shit. He winds a hand into Geralt’s hair and pulls, drawing a breathy moan from the man before he hears a clatter, strong arms bracketing around his waist.

“You knew who I was didn’t you?”   
  
Geralt laughs against his lips.

“You wrote a  _ song _ about it. Of course I knew.”   
  
Jaskier laughs, breaking into a moan when a large hand finds its way to his ass, groping and tugging him forward so their bodies press closer together. He can feel the line of Geralt’s cock against his hip and he’s thrown suddenly into the memory of the weight and taste of it on his tongue. He whimpers, grinding firmly into the press of Geralt’s body.   
  
“Fuck me, fuck me,  _ fuck me.” _

There’s a breathy laugh and then a whine.   
  
“Can’t take you back to my place on the bike.”   
  
And that sounds like the most ridiculous thing on this fucking planet, the confused sound of his offense loud enough for Geralt to clarify.   
  
“Don’t have extra gear for you. Drank too much. Too dangerous.”   
  
_ And oh. _ He can hardly be angry at that. In fact, he’s the opposite of angry at the care and consideration being shown for his safety. It makes him feel warm and electric and fuck, he needs release  _ now _ before he looses his mind.

“Then fuck me right here over the damn thing, I don’t care.”   
  
Geralt coughs, choking on his surprise and amusement at Jaskier’s eagerness.

“I’m not fucking you over the damn  _ bike _ , Jaskier. I’m getting a cab.”   
  
They separate long enough for Geralt to make good on his promise, then he moves to straddle the seat of his motorcycle, sitting back far enough for Jaskier to do the same except facing him. The bike is still leaning heavily on its kickstand and Jaskier is slightly nervous about it, suddenly getting why fucking on it might not be the best idea. Well that and the whole…  _ they are technically in public _ thing.

Small obstacles.

Geralt moves to plant his feet more firmly and suddenly everything seems less rickety, Jaskier finding himself pulled forward so his thighs are draping over Geralt’s own.   
  
“Twelve minutes to get here, think you can wait that long?”   
  
Jasier squirms, the heat of Geralt’s palms on his thighs making it hard to think.   
  
A solid slap on his thigh and it urges him into focusing finally.   
  
“Let me rephrase that- can you be a good boy and wait until we’re behind doors?”   
  
Jaskier, who has yet to find a kink he isn’t wholly into, melts under the thought of being Geralt’s good boy for an evening. He’s never been good a day in his fucking life, but Geralt makes him want to try.

He nods.   
  
Geralt chuckles, shaking his head and leaning in for another kiss.   
  
“Fucking  _ liar.” _   
  
Jaskier cries out in offense, retort on his lips but finds them gone suddenly as Geralt’s takes the opportunity to deepen their kiss. Suitably pacified, Jaskier is happy to continue until Geralt’s phone pings.   
  
Keeping hands off in the cab is more difficult than he expected, but he restrains dutifully. Geralt takes pity on him by keeping a hand on his thigh, but he’s sure that his skinny jeans do nothing to hide his  _ interest _ if the driver bothers to look.

This ride is taking entirely  _ too long. _


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voila- porn!
> 
> And maybe just a little bit of the hurt.

Geralt’s flat is perfectly unmentionable and average- a single bay garage at the end of a short driveway, evidence of an added-on second floor as the brick looks ever so slightly different there than on the rest. It’s charming- the front garden well-kept and Jaskier would love to take a good look at it whenever he’s not being pressed through the front door.

Geralt flicks on a hall light, pushing him against the wall to kiss him hungrily and Jaskier is in bliss until he glances over Geralt’s shoulder into the dim living room.

“Your curtains look like my grandmother’s.”   
  
Geralt growls, rolling his eyes.   
  
“I like them.”   
  
Jaskier has many things he could say about the hideous things, but ignores them all in favor for shrugging and finding the stairs to sit down on and take off his boots. 

Geralt watches him and then helps him up again after- holding onto his hand to guide him up the stairs and down the hall. Geralt’s bedroom looks comfortable- practical. A large bed for a large man, two end tables and a desk in the corner. An old wardrobe that doesn’t quite match the other pieces. Some hooks on the wall where Geralt hangs his leather jacket and helmet, setting his gloves on a small shelf with his keys.   
  
Organized. Clean. There’s little touches of personality on the bookshelf- trinkets and books that have clearly been well loved. It warms him, just a little. To see a space so carefully put together and lived in.

He wonders what Geralt would think of him if he saw his own bedroom- if you could call it that. It was practically a closet with a twin mattress on the floor he didn’t fit on and just enough clothing to fill a small dresser that doubled as his workspace. Nothing of personal value other than the cheap jewelry he’s amassed for his shows and the journals he’s filled. A case and a guitar that holds every hope and dream he’s ever had.   
  
He’s been evicted and ran out of so many places that it didn’t make sense to gather things anymore. Not when homelessness was just a bad week away from being his life once more.   
  
Geralt probably wouldn’t think very much of him at all.

He supposes it’s not something he’d have to worry about. Geralt will never see the sad room that Jaskier lives in or the way he locks himself in every night to ensure he’s safe. His roommates aren’t good people and he’s certainly too much of a  _ fairy _ for them to leave alone.

One day maybe. One day he’ll have a space as lovingly crafted as Geralt’s. Ugly curtains and all.

Geralt turns back to him and the small shine of uncertainty in the man’s eyes are entirely too much for Jaskier.

_ Shyness. _ How incredibly endearing.

Jaskier smiles and moves towards him, finding himself proven correct about their nearly equal height now that he’s flat footed, wrapping two arms around the man’s broad shoulders and leaning in for a kiss.

Geralt’s warm hands find his waist again and hold him in much the same careful way he did that night in the alley. Geralt is a strong man, but prefers gentleness and soft touch.

Jaskier hums and promptly breaks the quiet mood with a needy moan, parting his lips and deepening their kiss. He still remembers the way Geralt felt under his hands and tongue that night- solid and hot to the touch. And to meet him again, to be able to properly spend time with him is a surprising high.

Something about Geralt broadcasts safety through power and kindness alike and to be handsome on top of that is entirely too much to cope with. Jaskier drags one hand down Geralt’s strong, sculpted back to the front of his familiar leathers and rubs at the semi he finds there. Geralt grunts appreciatively and presses into the touch. Returns it by spreading his palms over Jaskier’s ass and squeezing. 

Jaskier gasps and Geralt breaks their kiss to grin, rubbing his hands back up Jaskier’s side to grip at the sheer, floral longsleeve he’s wearing, examining it a moment before pulling it up and over Jaskier’s head with a little help. Tugs at the loose tie in the front of the thin cotton chemise he’s wearing and pulling that off too.

Geralt stares for a moment before ducking his head and pressing his nose to Jaskier’s collar, mouthing gently at the underside of his jaw, hands exploring his torso.   
  
Jaskier moans as careful hands run through the hair on his chest, tugging gently, moving to find his nipples to press and tug between two rough fingers. He rocks his hips a little as the pleasure runs up his spine, wanting pressure on his cock to distract him from the soft touch. He chokes as Geralt’s fingers finds his piercings, twisting the bars in place and chuckling at the shiver that wracks Jaskier’s body in response.

“Bed, please.” Jaskier manages to choke out despite the wonderful sensations of Geralt’s hands. The hands that move to the center of his chest to push firmly until Jaskier’s knees hit the mattress, urging him to fall back. Geralt follows after him, settling on the end of the bed between his legs.

Jaskier groans as those hands trace down his chest to settle into the dip of his hips a moment then travel further down to caress his thighs. Then back up to cup at his dick through taught denim, making Jaskier buck.

“I want to return the favor you gave me, can I?

Jaskier nods, curling his hands into the duvet as Geralt unbuttons and tugs at his jeans until they’re pulled free.

“Fuck.”   
  
Jaskier grins. He doesn’t wear anything under his skinny jeans. Too much hassle and lines are the bane of his existence which means Geralt is-   
  
A warm hand wraps around the girth of his cock, thumbing curiously at the prince albert ring there, then swiping down to the frenum bar. It makes Jaskier’s legs tremble, being overwhelmed with sensation as Geralt drags his thumb down and back up the series of ladder bars on the underside of his cock.

_ “Fuck.” _ _  
_ _  
_ Jaskier hazards a look at Geralt, finding him slack jawed and flushed, mesmerized.

“Like it?”   
  
Geralt lifts his head to meet his eyes, pupils blown wide. Then Jaskier gasps as Geralt suddenly bends over, dragging his tongue over the head of his cock before swallowing around it, sucking.   
  
“Oh fuck!” Jaskier’s hands shoot to tangle in Geralt’s thick, white hair and pull, attempting to ground himself. Geralt’s tongue is curious and thorough, tracing over his piercings and humming appreciatively before finding a rhythm. Jaskier feels overwhelmed, legs shuddering so much that one of Geralt’s massive, calloused palms come to pin one of his thighs down.

Jaskier whimpers and then does what he does best- babbles.   
  
“Oh gods, oh fuck! That feels incredible, ah,  _ fuck!  _ You’re going to make me come, darling,  _ oh gods!” _   
  
He expects Geralt to pull off, not double down, swallowing around him in exaggerated motions. The wet, sucking sounds coming from his mouth are entirely too much combined with the pleasure, forcing Jaskier to grip harshly and shout as he comes straight down Geralt’s throat.

Everything goes white and fuzzy as the sound of his pulse echoes in his ears, wet warmth still wrapped around his cock for a long moment before leaving him adrift.

He rouses just enough to respond to Geralt as he crawls up to demand a kiss that tastes distinctly like his own come, melting into the most comfortable bed he’s ever been on.   
  
“Good?”, Geralt’s rough, slightly wet voice draws him away from his afterglow.

Jaskier laughs, “Good? Darling, if anyone tells you that your head is only  _ good,  _ then know that they have no soul and can no longer feel pleasure in any way that matters.”   
  
Geralt chuckles warmly and there’s an arm draped around his waist, bestowing some warmth against the chill of the sweat cooling on his skin.

“Sounds like a really complicated way of saying it was good.”   
  
Jaskier scoffs,  _ “Of course it was good.” _

Geralt hums, moving to kiss at Jaskier’s neck, nipping a little. Jaskier sighs into the touch and squirms a little as it rouses him once more. He’s not hard yet, won’t be for a bit, but he feels good.

When he imagined meeting his champion again while touching himself, it wasn’t quite like this. Rough, hard, a little forceful. There was no doubt in Jaskier’s mind that Geralt  _ could _ be rough with him, but it didn’t seem to be his preference. He moved slowly and carefully like he’s spooked lovers before and regretted it- or that maybe he’s projecting the kind of care he wants for himself.

Jaskier doubts this man is short of lovers, but he understands better than most of the pressure of expectation.

He moves finally, rolling onto his side to face Geralt and pull him in for a proper kiss. Geralt melts into it and runs a calloused hand up and down his bare side, thumb once more reaching for the piercings on his nipples and rubbing insistently.   
  
Jaskier chuckles, “You like them?”

Geralt pulls away from their kiss and watches the shine of the silver as he toys with it, “Can’t imagine doing it to myself, but they look good on you.”   
  
Jaskier hums, “They feel good. Especially when  _ you _ touch them.”

Hazel-golden eyes fly up to meet his and Jaskier is mesmerized by them.

“You know, I’ve never seen eyes like yours before. Like gold in the light.”

Geralt scoffs, “Had a lot of people tell me they made me look like some kind of witch. They get a little… transparent if the lighting is too harsh and it startles them.”

Jaskier tuts, “Hmm,  _ bewitching _ is how I’d describe it.”

Geralt grins a little and Jaskier smiles in return. How has this man gone this long without someone mentioning how wonderful his eyes are?

The man’s hand continues down his frame to cup at his softened cock, thumbing gently at the piercings there, “Never seen something like this before.”

Jaskier grins, angling his hips for better viewing, “I’m very proud of them. Cost a pretty penny.”

“Why did you do it?”, Geralt asks and it’s not with judgement or fear like he’s seen in some partners, their skin squirming as they imagine what it would feel like for them, but with genuine interest.

“Well you see, the two at the top give me more pleasure. They make everything a bit more intense. After it was all healed up, I had to build my tolerance again because pulling on them would make me come far too quick. Still do, if toyed with right.”, Jaskier makes a point to look up at Geralt when he says that, making sure he understands just how wonderful that blowjob was for him.

Geralt is flushed, the red dipping down to his collar in a mixture of arousal and shyness, “And the ones on the bottom?”

Jaskier grins wolfishly, “Those are for my partners. You can feel them when getting fucked, tugging and pushing against your hole- I’ve had lovers of all kinds tell me how incredible it felt inside them.”

Geralt’s flush intensifies with every word and Jaskier grins, seeing the effect of the man imagining how it would feel in  _ him. _

“So you like being on top?”, Geralt finally manages.

Jaskier shrugs, “I like having  _ options. _ I love being stuffed just as much as I love doing the stuffing.”

_ “Christ.” _ , Geralt finally spits out pushing him down to lay on top of him, pressing against Jaskier’s now-hard cock with the stiffness of his own through his clothing.

“Hmm, and what do you want tonight, darling? Do you want to watch me toy with them while you fuck me or feel them yourself?”, Jaskier asks teasingly. He wants to know what Geralt wants- the man having been largely focused on him this entire evening.

Geralt moans, thrusting a little against him, “Fuck, I didn’t prepare for anything.”   
  
Jaskier grins softly, “Another night then. Will you still shove every inch of that wonderful cock inside me until I scream for you?”

Jaskier doesn’t think too much on the promise he’s offered here for another night- he’s offered it to many men who have never taken him up on it. He won’t think less of Geralt when he joins their ranks. Someone as lovely as Geralt has no need of a man like him in his life.

Geralt, oblivious to the allusion of Jaskier’s words, shudders in pleasure, grinding down forcefully, growling,  _ “Fuck. _ You’re filthy.”

Jaskier moans, throwing his head back, “You have no idea.”

Geralt  _ snarls _ and then there’s lips and teeth at his throat, arms snaking under his torso to pull him close, pressing Jaskier into the bed with all of his dense weight.

Jaskier cries out, relishing in the new rougher treatment. Whimpering a little at the chafe of his leathers until Geralt sits up, hands flying to his own shirt as Jaskier works on the zipper of his trousers.

Jaskier looks up just as Geralt’s shirt lands somewhere else, freezing in the intensity of his reaction to the sudden unveiling of the most magnificent torso he’s ever seen. White chest hair coating miles of dense muscle, a layer of softness over it. A man who stays fit, maybe more than just fit, but also doesn’t starve himself for the sake of appeal. Jaskier’s been with partners like that and though the effect was wonderful, Geralt looks like the kind of man that could -well-  _ fight off multiple attackers in an alleyway and win. _

And  _ gods  _ his pecs. He reaches to get a handful, abandoning his mission to get into Geralt’s trousers to grope at them like the work of art they are. Firm, large, soft to the touch, Jaskier wonders what it would feel like to press them together and fuck the space between. He thumbs at Geralt’s dusky nipples as the man breathes heavy, appreciating the treatment.

And  _ oh god _ \- The massive tattoo across them only displays his beauty more. It looks refined and expensive, well designed and colorfully applied. It probably cost more than everything Jaskier owns  _ combined. _ The delicate work spans out from his sternum to his collar and shoulders, various creatures contained within. Monsters of every kind and shape hidden amongst the twist of vines and leaves, a massive and very detailed snarling wolf’s head displayed at the center.

Jaskier tracks the art with his fingers, gasping softly as he realizes there’s designs of similar kind on Geralt’s arms. The vine work looping his forearms, two massive swords of slightly different styles on the inside of each of them. There’s runes and sigils too, on the outside of his forearms, but Jaskier doesn’t comprehend them, focusing on the display of it all instead.

_ “Fuck.”,  _ Jaskier shudders, entirely overwhelmed. Was there an ounce of this man that wasn’t beautiful?  _ And he hasn’t even gotten his trousers off yet. _   
  
And that wouldn’t do.

Geralt moves with him as he attacks the leathers again, whining in frustration as they fall away to reveal a set of leggings underneath- hugging what has to be the longest, most powerful set of legs he’s ever seen. Geralt’s cock strains against them and when he turns to toss the leathers to the side and help Jaskier get him out of the leggings and briefs, Jaskier wants to whine as he catches sight of his ass. He remembers the feel of it through the leathers, but holy hell it looks like it’s been sculpted out of  _ marble. _ Fuck, he might need to make sure he gets the chance to come back here if not to do anything more than bite and lap and lick at that utter  _ gift  _ of an ass.

But Geralt said he wasn’t ready, so he gropes at it instead as he pulls them together to grind their now-bare cocks together. Geralt responds in kind, grabbing at him and kneading his ass as they kiss. Jaskier makes to lap at Geralt’s lips when Geralt brings a hand up to hold the back of his neck as he shoves his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth, liking and sucking at his lips.

It feels as if he’s being devoured and Jaskier moans as he realizes Geralt is practically tongue-fucking him. It leaves him breathless and makes it hard to think- light-headed as Geralt pulls away to help Jaskier onto his back.

They can’t keep their hands off each other and Jaskier would feel a little worried about being too hairy for Geralt’s liking if it weren't for the fact that Geralt was practically petting him. Tangling his fingertips in his chest hair and pulling gently, rubbing and stroking. Toying with the fluff framing his cock and settled between his thighs.

It’s wonderful, really. And maybe a little weird, but Jaskier’s had worse reactions to his body hair than this. Most assumed him shaved and waxed given his stage appearance but other than tasteful trimming and tidying he hasn’t bothered. And Geralt seems to be whatever the opposite of minding it is. He doesn’t think about it too much- Geralt’s hands feel good, especially when they grab the base of his cock and guide it into his mouth again.

He reaches down to grab a fistful of white hair, thrusting up shallowly into the warmth of Geralt’s mouth again. He curses as he realizes Geralt is focusing almost entirely on his piercings, teasing him.   
  
_ “Geralt. _ If you make me come again right now I won’t be able to come on your cock.”, he half-heartedly scolds. It would be a shame, really, but gods Geralt’s mouth is incredible.

Jaskier is only partly disappointed when Geralt decides to pull off, then gasps as the man grips under his thighs to push his legs up towards his chest, baring his ass to Geralt’s wonderful and  _ skilled  _ tongue. There’s no shame in the way Geralt pleasures his lovers with his mouth- just greedy lapping and sucking and teasing. It’s sloppy and wet and Jaskier cries out as Geralt devours him whole. Warm, wet sensations travelling from his hole to his balls to the root of his cock and back again in a desperate, hungry pattern.

“Hold yourself open for me.”, Geralt rasps at him, waiting for Jaskier to get himself together enough to loop his hands under his knees and pull himself taut. He gets a smack to his bared ass for it, making him gasp and squirm so Geralt does it  _ again  _ before moving to reach into his nightstand.

He pulls out a bottle of lube and Jaskier moans happily at the sight of it, and then again as Geralt coats his fingers in the slick and returns to eating him out like he’s being paid to do it.

A little insistent pressure, and Jaskier’s breath catches as one thick finger presses into him, moaning loudly as Geralt sucks at the base of his cock to ease the discomfort of penetration. A few tentative thrusts and Jaskier finally relaxes into it.

Only to jolt once Geralt finds his prostate, pressing insistently into it.

“Oh fuck!”, Jaskier shouts as the shock of it travels up his spine.

Geralt chuckles and keeps rubbing, slipping another finger in alongside the first to begin spreading him open. His fingers are careful, but firm as he watches for discomfort and keeps the stretch smooth and predictable. If Jaskier had to describe it- it felt like being massaged from the inside.

He’s had all manner of people finger him open, but Geralt is certainly the most gentle and skilled at it. Coaxing him open until he can fit a third finger, keeping eye contact with Jaskier as he works. Pausing every time Jaskier tenses and focusing on his cock until he relaxes again.

Geralt adds more lube and he feels wet and just a little sloppy, moaning as those fingers start moving a bit harder and a bit faster. Properly fucking him, swiping over his prostate with every pass. Pushing him a little closer to the edge every time.   
  
“Fuck, Geralt! Gods I’m ready, I swear I am,  _ please!” _ , he’s going to fucking  _ die _ if Geralt doesn’t give him what he wants soon.

Geralt hums, looking down and spreading his fingers to gape Jaskier’s hole a little, testing the give, “I don’t know, might be a tight fit.”

Jaskier protests at Geralt’s teasing, playful tone and wants to kick at that smug face. Luckily, he doesn’t have to as Geralt moves to get closer, pulling his fingers out, getting more lube to spread on his cock. Repositioning Jaskier’s legs to drape over his hips and settle between them.

And fuck, then all Jaskier can see is Geralt’s magnificent chest, his long hair draping messily over his shoulders, and those intense golden eyes and everything slows down for a moment.

He pulls Geralt down for a kiss, needy, but soft. Geralt hums into it, pressing more of his weight down and Jaskier sighs as he feels Geralt’s hand sneak between them to grab his cock, breaking their kiss so Jaskier can whine as he feels the head of Geralt’s cock pressing into him. It  _ is _ a tight fit, but not overly uncomfortable thanks to Geralt’s care.

“Fuck, is there a single thing about you that’s small?”, Jaskier gasps in disbelief as Geralt rocks into him. He knows exactly how big Geralt is- he’s sucked him off for fuck’s sake- but having it inside him feels different.

“Do you need me to stop?”, Geralt asks, a little breathless but concerned. Brows furrowed in concentration as he breathes in puffs through parted lips. Jaskier can see the flush on his collar, the tension in his shoulders as he keeps still despite not wanting to.

_ Oh, Geralt was a true treasure alright. _

Jaskier hums, stretching his legs a little before settling them back around Geralt’s surprisingly slim waist, then shakes his head, “Don’t you dare.”

Geralt grins, pressing just a little further before starting to pull back out again. Fucking into him in slow, smoth motions, feeding a little more of himself in every time.

They’re both sweating when Geralt’s hips finally meet Jaskier’s and his breath hitches as he adjusts to the feeling of it, finally rocking his hips in invitation once he’s ready. 

Geralt groans above him, gently fucking in and out until the glide is easy. Then thrusts in a little harder, making Jaskier gasp from the jolt of pleasure. Geralt’s big enough that it feels like there’s nowhere he can escape from the sensation of it against his prostate and a few more hard thrusts has his legs shaking.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”, Geralt moans into the crook of his neck, his rocking hard enough to make Jaskier’s body shift.

Jaskier cries out as the angle changes and gets deeper somehow, “Gods, I can feel you in my  _ throat.” _

Geralt chuckles, lifting himself up to lean back on his knees, pulling Jaskier’s hips onto his lap. The display of strength and angle is so good that Jaskier isn’t sure he won’t come right there, but Geralt is slow in getting him used to the new position.

“You promised me you’d let me watch you touch yourself as I fucked you.”, Geralt growls, grinding deep.

Jaksier grins, reaching for his cock and choking a little as the pleasure hits him, pushing him right to the edge before he’s ready for it. He has to curl his fingers around the base of his cock to keep himself from coming. Geralt must notice because his laughter is warm and raspy from his own pleasure, his thrusts slowing to a crawl as Jaskier gets ahold of himself.

“Not yet, just a little more for me.”, Geralt’s voice is soft, but demanding. Jaskier nods, groaning as Geralt grips him around the waist and pulls him into each sharp thrust of his hips.

Jaskier cries out, reaching to cling to the sheets as Geralt  _ uses _ him. Pistoning into him, brows furrowed in concentration, sweat gathering on his chest and damping the ends of his hair. He looks wild, powerful, and beautiful.

Geralt’s eyes flash up to his, bright and needy and Jaskier can see the tenseness in his form before the man even speaks, urging him to come. “C’mon, sweetheart, you can do it.”   
  
Jaskier can feel the fucking tingle in his goddamn  _ toes _ as he finally jerks himself off in earnest, Geralt grinding into him in just the right way to push him over that edge. It stamps out all thought, just filling him with mind-numbing pleasure and satisfaction. He’s just coming back around when Geralt shifts, leaning over him a bit as he begins fucking in earnest again, seeking his own climax.

“Fuck, Geralt. C’mon, I want to feel it  _ gods _ I know you can do it darling-”, he’s babbling and Geralt moans, closing his eyes, beath hitching as his form jerks from the intensity of his orgasm.

And Jaskier  _ can _ feel it. Geralt doesn’t leave anything half-done, filling him to the brim and then some. They’re both heaving, the heat between them slowly cooling in the quiet.

Geralt hums, coming out of his afterglow to lean down and leave a soft kiss on Jaskier’s lips before making to pull out and lay on his side. Jaskier moans at the sensation of being left gaping, but Geralt doesn’t leave him there for long, grabbing his discarded shirt and wiping them both down to the best of his ability before tossing it aside again.

Jaskier is content to continue riding out his afterglow, especially once Geralt unexpectedly cozies up next to him, draping an arm across his chest and pulling him close.

“Is this alright?”, his voice is quiet and tired, Jaskier noticing the hidden neediness in his voice.

Geralt wouldn’t be the first lover he’s had that needs contact after sex, and Jaskier is happy to oblige, curling closer. “Of course, this is quite comfortable thank you.”   
  
Geralt hums softly, pulling him just a little bit closer as he dozes.

He’s not sure how long they lay there, only that Geralt’s even breath has been puffing onto his shoulder for a little while. The man looks adorable asleep, soft and relaxed. His hold hasn’t relaxed much, which makes Jaskier’s heart ache.

He’s had another good look around Geralt’s bedroom while laying here, finding little bits and pieces of a life well-lived. There’s a few photos of himself and a girl in various ages by the bookshelf- as well as him and three other men. There’s trinkets on the shelf that would have been exactly the kind of thing children make for their parents in school.

A father, then. To whoever is in those photos- apparently grown if they’re not here. A family man, at the very least. With how careful and considerate he is towards other people it’s no wonder he has strong bonds with the important people in his life.

And yet he lives here alone.

He can’t tell if Geralt trusts him this much to fall asleep next to a practical stranger or if he’s just that certain in his own abilities, but it feels like being handed something sweet and fragile.

Jaskier traces a finger over chapped lips, staring in wonder for just a bit more.

But the cold blade of fear and shame creeps in and before he knows it, he can’t stay there any longer.

He’s an artist, he can see the beauty in a man with so many obviously desirable traits and spend entire weeks writing about it. He can lay here and muse about what might be keeping Geralt from being loved the way he needs to be for just as long.

But he’s also not dumb enough to think that his place in Geralt’s story is anymore than a few anecdotes at the bottom of a page somewhere. Maybe if he were younger and less jaded he’d say he’d be happy to drag Geralt out of that pit himself with little more than his voice and feral nature, but he’s not the person he used to be.

He doesn’t  _ want _ someone like Geralt knowing who he is now. Being a good lay with a good voice is about all he really wants to leave Geralt with.

It aches, yes. But isn’t it for the best? Geralt would tell him to leave sooner or later- surely it’s not his dream to wake up next to his one-night-stand and figure out how to gently kick them out.

Jaskier’s made enough awkward early-morning retreats to last a lifetime. He can save himself from one more.

Squirming out from under Geralt’s grip is a small struggle, the arm a dead weight around him. Luckily Geralt doesn’t wake, not even after Jaskier finds a blanket to throw over him.

He dresses quickly, biting his lip as he takes one last glance back at Geralt’s massive sleeping form. It’s tempting to just crawl back in and let whatever happens in the morning happen, but he can’t.

He does leave a note though, finding the idea of just leaving a bit cruel. A simple thank you and signature- maybe Geralt can sell it some day when he finally hits it big and gets his first album contract.

Jaskier huffs a laugh to himself at the thought of that. Him? With a contract? Oh that would certainly be the day wouldn’t it?

He shuts off the bedroom lights, sneaking downstairs to get his shoes and head out, shutting the front door behind himself firmly.

It’s early morning now, a few hours from dawn. He can probably get to the station before he’s dead on his feet. It’s not the first time he’s had to gingerly walk himself in heels to the trains after a good fuck.

This is his life. Loving people and then letting go before it goes too far.

He hates it, sometimes.

_ Maybe a little more than usual tonight. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted Geralt to be a service top in this series- and I think it's played out nicely.
> 
> And Jaskier is definitely more than a little defensive about his history and state in life. His worst fear is finding someone to love and have them throw him away. He'd rather destroy a good thing early than play out a lie for an extended period of time.
> 
> It seems I've made a few people panic, so I do want to state that there are more parts to this story! It won't end here I promise! They'll figure it out eventually.
> 
> [Come say hi on my Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Vertizontally)

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter is mostly written- I've been working on this on and off for months really. Anticipate the next chapter (and the porn) soon!
> 
> [Come say hi on my Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Vertizontally)


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